shots
by Control Room
Summary: WARNING: HEAVY LANGUAGE, SELF HARM, SUICIDAL IDEATION, DRINKING. "SHITE!" Eggs swore, violently throwing a plate against the wall of his home, reveling in the smash. "MOTHER, TO THE FOOKIN' 'ELL, FAUCK!" He let out a wordless scream, and then another. His torn and bloody hands were clenched fists at his sides.


"SHITE!" Eggs swore, violently throwing a plate against the wall of his home, reveling in the smash. "MOTHER, TO THE FOOKIN' 'ELL, FAUCK!"

He let out a wordless scream, and then another. His torn and bloody hands were clenched fists at his sides. He shook in place, staring at the shattered remains of the plate on the floor. He moaned tilting his aching head back. Eggs walked backwards until he bumped against the wall. He slid down, landing on the floor heavily, repressing a sob. His shoulders shuddered, and he dropped his head into his calloused hands, and screamed again, until his throat felt raw. He couldn't deal with this. It was bullshit.

* * *

Everything ached. He hated it, so much. He couldn't hold back his tears anymore, so he let them slide down his face silently. He crawled on his hands and knees to the shattered plate, and picked up the largest shard, and got up, wiping the tears off his cheeks. He left the shard on the table, and stumbled into the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of vodka he stole from Ivan, and stalked back into the living room, sitting heavily. He furrowed his scarred brow. He knew he shouldn't drink, he shouldn't do this... but at this point, he could care less. He opened the bottle with his hands, and set it beside the glass, and looked at both of them contemplatively. He stretched his hand toward the alcohol, but jerked his hand to the shard instead. He wanted to feel this, at least the first cut. Adjusting his grip, he placed the tip of the shard against his wrist, and swiftly pulled to his elbow, gasping at the sudden pain, then he grinned, maniacally.

One. One cut for being brash.

One sip of vodka.

Two. Two cuts for stupidity.

Two, but now a swallow.

Three. The cuts for failure.

Three, but now a gulp.

Four. Four cuts for cowardice.

Four, but now a swig.

Five. Five cuts for that stupid x chromosome.

Five, but now a long draft.

He shakily swapped the now bloody blade of glass to his other hand. He positioned the shard on his right wrist, and tugged.

Six. Six for that other x chromosome.

Six, but now a chug.

Seven. Seven cuts for doing this to himself.

Seven, but he didn't put it down for five seconds.

Eight. Eight cuts for not being a better person.

Eight, but half the bottle is now gone.

Nine. Nine cuts for the nine months it took him to form before being born.

Nine, but there's only a third of the drink left. When did that happen?

Ten. Ten cuts for not having the guts to just end it all.

He clenched the bottle tightly. He could do it so easily, there were so many ways... any of them could work. The train. The roof. The shark. The stairs. The broken fuse. The bear traps. It would be so... **easy** to just be done.

He sighed, and lifted the bottle to his lips shakily, almost against his will. But he just wanted to forget. That's how the saying went, right? If you see something, tell no one, and drink to forget. He rolled his head back, and allowed the fiery liquid to run its flaming course down his already hoarse throat. He heard a distant knock on his door, careful and hesitant. Basically the opposite of Eggs, he thought with a dark chuckle. A semi coherent thought told him to open the door. He sighed and lifted himself up, and stumbled to the door, still holding the bottle. He opened the door roughly.

"Whaddaya want, huh?" he snapped at... Shit. Shit. Shite. Ivan stood there, bewildered. He looked terrified. Eggs swallowed sharply, then opened the door a little wider. "Are you going ta come in or wha'?"

"Are... are you alright?" was the answer he got. He rolled his eyes. "I mean, I heard screaming and- IS THAT BLOOD?!"

Eggs glanced at where Ivan was pointing in horror. His arms. Oh. He forgot to clean that before getting the door. He shrugged.

"Boji moi, let's go get this cleaned up... are you drunk? How much of that bottle did you drink?"

"I jus' opened it, mate," Eggs chuckled with a delirious slur. "So, all of it? I prolly shouldn't've, but it's too late for that, ha!"

"Yop tvayu mat," Ivan muttered, shaking his head. Eggs giggled at the obscene language. "Come on. Let's get you sobered and cleaned up."

Eggs stumbled after Ivan as he led the way to the bathroom. Eggs' vision flickered, and he gripped Ivan's shoulder. Then he blacked out.

* * *

He woke up in a bed. It wasn't the couch, he duly noted. The bed was familiar. His head hurt. The house was familiar as well. His arms were bandaged. He looked around. Who did that? He heard footsteps, and alarms went off in his mind.

The door opened after someone knocked briefly.

It was Ivan. He just stood awkwardly, then took a cautions step.

"I, um." he cleared his throat. "I didn't want to leave you alone after you passed out, so I brought you to... my house. You're not being held hostage or anything, I just wanted to keep an eye on you."

Eggs only nodded, but slowly and sadly. Tears pricked his eyes sharply as the memories came in. Ivan swallowed and came to the edge of the bed and sat. Eggs pulled himself into a sitting position.

"I'm sorry," they said at the exact same time, then smiled sadly at each other, even as they started at each other in shock and amazement. Eggs began to laugh, even as tears poured out of his eyes. Ivan also began laughing and crying. It wasn't perfect.

"Perfection doesn't exist!" Eggs blurted between sobs of laughter. Ivan guffawed harder. Eggs cried harder. It wasn't perfect. But it was better. And better is all we can hope for. And maybe then, it'll be perfectly imperfect.


End file.
